The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (13 page)

“Because I was busy and wouldn’t have
answered it anyway,” I replied. “And, with you calling every ten or
fifteen minutes you would have worn out my battery.”

He grumbled something unintelligible but
refrained from direct comment on my candor. Instead he launched
directly into admonishing me. “Sonofabitch, Row. What were ya’
thinkin’? Do ya’ realize how much shit you coulda been in with that
stunt?”

“Not answering my phone?”

“Goddammit, stop bein’ an asshole. You know
what I’m talkin’ about. The shit you pulled impersonatin’ a
copper!”

“Oh, that. Well, yeah, I think Detective
Fairbanks made that pretty clear.”

“Yeah, well imagine my friggin’ surprise when
I got the phone call this mornin’.”

“Are you sure ‘surprise’ is the right
word?”

“Pissed off works too.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought you really
meant. But, we both know you expected me to do something about
getting into the crime scene.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t actually think you’d be
able ta’ find it. Dammit, White Man, I never woulda dreamed you’d
go that far.”

“Neither would I,” I admitted. “Trust me, I
didn’t know I had it in me.”

“This ain’t a joke, Row.”

“I know that, Ben. But, remember, we’re
talking about Felicity here. You should know by now, I’m going to
do whatever it takes where she’s concerned.”

“Obviously,” he replied. “So, I guess you
realize I owe this copper a big one now, don’tcha?”

“I figured as much.”

“We ain’t just talkin’ a box of cigars or
somethin’ either,” he added.

“I kind of figured that too. And, by the same
token, I owe you as well. But, I think I’ve pretty much been
running a tab for a while now anyway.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Well, do me a favor and don’t call in your
markers just yet. I might need an extension on my credit line
first.”

“How’s that? Fairbanks told me you were
s’posed ta’ be gettin’ outta town, ASAP.”

“I’m not done here yet.”

“As far as he’s concerned, ya’ are, and I
gotta agree with ‘im.”

“I’ll be home Saturday, just like I
originally planned.”

“You’re gonna get your ass in deep shit
again, Row, and I ain’t gonna be able ta’ get ya’ out of it.”

“I’ll be fine if I’m careful.”

“Like ya’ were this mornin’?”

“More careful.”

“Jeezus…” he muttered. “You’re a fuckin’
piece’a work, ya’ know that?”

“So you’ve told me several times.”

“Well? Was it worth almost gettin’ locked
up?”

“I don’t know for sure just yet, but I think
so.”

“Did’ja end up goin’ all
Twilight Zone
?”

“Back to back episodes with no commercials,”
I replied.

“Jeezus…” His tone switched to one of
concern. “So, you okay?”

“Other than a lingering gender dysphoric
psychological issue, just fine.”

“Gender what, psycho who?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I think ya’ had lingerin’ psych issues
before ya’ ever went down there.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “So spill it. Whaddid
ya’ see?”

“A seriously twisted mirror image of my wife
named Annalise.”

“You saw ‘er?”

“Hell, I did more than that. I talked to
her.”

“Was it la-la land talked to, or like for
real?”

“In the vision,” I explained.

“How the fuck did ya’ talk to ‘er?”

“I think it has something to do with
the fact that the
Lwa
is a
spirit, so we’re obviously dealing with a dead person here. And, as
we know, I tend to have conversations with dead people.”

“So ya’ didn’t talk ta’ evil sis, ya’ talked
ta’ the ghost.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I talked to both
of them.”

“See, now that’s just even more fucked up
than usual, Row.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Well? Whaddid she…they say?”

“She told me she wants it back. All of
it.”

“It?”

“Unless I missed my guess, I think she was
talking about sexual gratification.”

“You wanna explain that one? You ain’t sayin’
you had some kinda la-la land sex with ‘er are ya’?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head out of pure
reflex. “Of course not. I’m pretty sure she means the sexual
gratification she gets from torturing and killing her victims.”

“Okay. So does she think you have it or
somethin’?”

“No, but she definitely thinks I know who
does.”

“Felicity,” he grunted.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“At the risk of sounding glib, she didn’t
say. In fact, I got the impression she doesn’t even know who
Felicity actually is, but unfortunately she knows her name. And,
mine too.”

“Whaddaya mean? How?”

“Long story short, I was talking to
myself…”

He interrupted me. “I thought you were
talkin’ ta’ her?”

“This was before I was talking to her,” I
said with an exasperated sigh. “Just let me finish. So, I happened
to say my own name aloud, and she came back with something like,
‘oh, that’s who you are.’”

“Fuck me… How much weirder is this gonna get,
Row?”

“Weirder, I don’t know. Clearer, that’s a
different story.”

“How so?”

“You sitting down?”

“Awww, Jeeeezzzz… Yeah. What?”

“Listen to what I found at the library…”

I reached over into the passenger seat and
pulled the printouts from my backpack. Unfolding them, I shuffled
through in search of the largest image. While I did so I asked,
“First off, have you ever heard the story about the Lalaurie family
in New Orleans?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“Okay, then let me give you a little
background. Back in the early eighteen-thirties, Doctor Louis
Lalaurie, his wife, Delphine, and their daughters moved into a
mansion on Royal Street in the French Quarter. They quickly became
prominent in the community and were soon very well known for their
social gatherings.

“Now, remember, this was during a time of
slavery, and they definitely owned their share. More than their
share, actually. They had a house staff consisting of dozens. But,
before too long people started noticing that slaves seemed to come
and go a bit more often than normal, and that raised some
suspicion.

“Then, in April of eighteen thirty-four, the
reality behind those suspicions came to light when a fire broke out
in the kitchen and swept through a good portion of the mansion.
After the blaze was put out, the people who had been fighting the
fire discovered a secret room behind a barred and locked door in
the attic. When they entered, they found more than a dozen slaves,
both male and female, in various horrific states. They were all
either chained to walls or to makeshift operating tables. Many had
open, festering wounds where limbs had been amputated or organs
removed. Several of the men had been castrated, and it is said that
one man even had a hole bored into his skull and a stick protruding
from it.”

“Jeezus, Row…” Ben groaned. “Are you sure you
ain’t talkin’ about a friggin’ horror movie or somethin’?”

“I know. It sounds like one, doesn’t it? But,
here’s the rub. One of the initial theories was that Doctor
Lalaurie had been conducting medical experiments on the slaves.
However, according to the story printed in the New Orleans Bee, it
was determined via witnessed accounts that the wife, Delphine, was
insane and that it was she who was responsible for inflicting the
tortures on them.”

“Damn. So did they hang ‘er sorry ass?”

“No. Following the discovery, she fled New
Orleans in a somewhat spectacular escape, and where she ended up is
a bit of a mystery.”

“So you think maybe the ghost of this
Delphine woman is really Miranda?” he asked.

“No, but close. Listen to this,” I
replied then shifted the papers so I could read him the notice.
“
Found Drowned. The coroner held an inquest
yesterday on the body of a woman named, Miranda Blanque, sister of
Delphine Lalaurie, aged forty-three years, who was found floating
in the Mississippi opposite the third municipality. It appears that
on Sunday night last, she was seen to have jumped into the river.
Verdict accordingly
.

“That was from the front page of the New
Orleans Bee, September eighteenth, eighteen fifty-one. The tomb
that Doctor Rieth is taking me to see is that of one Miranda
Blanque, date of death, on or around September fourteenth, eighteen
fifty-one, which would have been that Sunday.”

“Jeezus, Row…”

“Yeah, Ben. I think maybe insanity runs in
that family.”

“No shit,” Ben muttered, then spoke up and
huffed, “Okay… I hate ta’ rain on your parade, but where does all
that get ya’?”

“It gives us a pretty good idea why Annalise
has been doing the things she has,” I explained.

“Yeah, but we’re still talkin’ about a dead
person here, Row. I can’t arrest a dead person. Besides, what it
all comes down to is that Felicity’s evil sis is the one that’s
really doin’ the killin’.”

“I know that. But, Miranda is the one driving
her to do it.”

“Yeah, so? Miranda’s still dead. We
need ta’ be lookin’ for a
live
homicidal bitch.”

“Yes,
you
do.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean Annalise is your problem, not
mine.”

“Come again?”

“Look, Ben, I’ve been told at every turn to
stay out of this. By your superiors, by Detective Fairbanks this
morning, and at least a dozen times by you over the past few weeks.
So, that’s what I’m doing.”

“I thought ya’ said you’d been at the
library?”

“I have.”

“Well, the way you’re talkin’, it sounds more
like ya’ been hangin’ out in a bar gettin’ trashed. In case you
haven’t noticed, you’re up ta’ your ass in all of this no matter
what anyone has said.”

“I can’t help it if our investigations
overlap.”

“Now you’re just bein’ an asshole again,
White Man.”

“Call it what you want, but I’m not here
looking for Annalise. I’m looking for Miranda.”

“Oh, so now you’re a friggin’ ghost cop, are
ya?”

“Sure. Why not? Obviously somebody has to do
it; I guess it might as well be me. Look at it this way—I’m giving
you what you want. I’m staying out of your way.”

“Fuck me,” he spat then paused. A second
later he added, “Like I said before, I think you’ve lost your
goddamned mind. When’s the last time you got some sleep?”

“You’re the third person to ask me that
today,” I said. “It’s starting to get a little old.”

“Been awhile, huh?”

“That’s irrelevant, Ben. This whole thing got
personal the minute Miranda decided to use Felicity as a horse. You
don’t really think that’s going to stop just by finding Annalise
and locking her up do you?”

“Shit, I don’t know,” he huffed. “I ain’t
mister Voodoo guy. It’s all just one big freak show as far as I’m
concerned. Hell, I sometimes wonder if I’m a half bubble off for
believin’ any of it.”

“You’ve seen too much not to believe,
Ben.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem…” he sighed.
“So, tell me… What’re ya’ gonna do now that ya’ think you’ve found
‘er?

I puffed my cheeks then blew out a heavy
breath before answering. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

T
heir reprieve had been too long, and I was growing impatient.
I needed to be satisfied and these constant interruptions were
making that need even harder to bear. If that little bitch in the
kitchen knew what was good for her, she would get on with her work
and stop pestering me.

I started back up the stairs, pausing only
for a moment when I thought I heard my name being called yet again.
The tickle deep inside was growing, and it was all I could do to
stand there in silence, waiting. But, I heard nothing other than
the sound of my own heart as it began to race faster with
anticipation. Turning, I gathered my dress in front of me and
started back upward, my shoes striking with a deliberate thump
against the wooden planks. Before I was even halfway through my
climb, I could hear their muted sobbing filling the short voids
between my footfalls.

My excitement welled in a warm rush that
traveled all the way into my stomach, forcing me to catch my breath
in a sudden gasp.

They feared me. I could feel it. I could
even taste it on the air as I began to take shallow breaths through
my parted lips. This was how it should be. Their fear and their
pain were my pleasure. It was how they showed their love for me.
And, it belonged to me—as did they.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, standing
perfectly still for a short moment. The tickle was becoming the
itch that would soon be exploding through me, making my knees go
weak and my passions flare; but I knew that at this moment it was
only the beginning. Very soon that itch would be everything. And,
all that I needed to make it happen was just on the other side of
the door.

I unlocked the barrier and pushed it open. A
small swath of dim light fell across the room. The door creaked on
the un-oiled hinges as it swung wider. I entered slowly, savoring
the promise of what was to come before turning and pressing the
door closed in my wake.

They were moaning, at least those who could.
Some of them were even sobbing quietly. Their misery fueled my
desire. I stepped with determination across the room, the soles of
my shoes clacking lightly against the floorboards.

I stood near him in the darkness. I could
hear him mumbling, and it sounded as if he was praying. I smiled to
myself at the very thought, imagining that his prayers were not to
God, but to me as his Goddess.